Educated

He ignored me and continued crawling toward the bin. He had a cold look
in his eye that said nothing mattered except the fire burning from his leg into
his brain. I moved quickly. I shoved the bin, and a great wave of water
heaved over the grass. Luke made a gargled noise, as if he were choking.
I ran back into the kitchen and found the bags that fit the can, then held one
open for Luke and told him to put his leg in. He didn’t move, but he allowed
me to pull the bag over the raw flesh. I righted the can and stuffed the garden
hose inside. While the bin filled, I helped Luke balance on one foot and lower
his burned leg, now wrapped in black plastic, into the garbage can. The
afternoon air was sweltering; the water would warm quickly; I tossed in the
pack of ice.
It didn’t take long—twenty minutes, maybe thirty—before Luke seemed in
his right mind, calm and able to prop himself up. Then Richard wandered up
from the basement. The garbage can was smack in the middle of the lawn, ten
feet from any shade, and the afternoon sun was strong. Full of water, the can
was too heavy for us to move, and Luke refused to take out his leg, even for a
minute. I fetched a straw sombrero Grandma had given us in Arizona. Luke’s
teeth were still chattering so I also brought a wool blanket. And there he
stood, a sombrero on his head, a wool blanket around his shoulders, and his
leg in a garbage can. He looked something between homeless and on
vacation.
The sun warmed the water; Luke began to shift uncomfortably. I returned
to the chest freezer but there was no more ice, just a dozen bags of frozen
vegetables, so I dumped them in. The result was a muddy soup with bits of
peas and carrots.
Dad wandered home sometime after this, I couldn’t say how long, a gaunt,
defeated look on his face. Quiet now, Luke was resting, or as near to resting
as he could be standing up. Dad wheeled the bin into the shade because,
despite the hat, Luke’s hands and arms had turned red with sunburn. Dad said
the best thing to do was leave the leg where it was until Mother came home.
Mother’s car appeared on the highway around six. I met her halfway up the
hill and told her what had happened. She rushed to Luke and said she needed
to see the leg, so he lifted it out, dripping. The plastic bag clung to the
wound. Mother didn’t want to tear the fragile tissue, so she cut the bag away
slowly, carefully, until the leg was visible. There was very little blood and
even fewer blisters, as both require skin and Luke didn’t have much.
Mother’s face turned a grayish yellow, but she was calm. She closed her eyes